.gif "talk about sex by @frostsparks")
There are a million rumours and little hard knowledge about what happened to Lust. Everyone knows Malharaxxus was mixed up in something so foolishly heinous that she got stepped on like a bug, by Upstairs, and so heinously foolish that Hell stood back and simply let them. Everyone knows that in the aftermath, hellfire ripped through the old offices — whether ass-covering or pique or sabotage, everyone has a theory. All the old teams got broken up and reassigned. A couple dozen succubi got flung into the Furnace Eternal and Loathing, or otherwise fired. Nobody ever even found any trace of Golnaarth.
New Lust has fallen under the stewardship of Jamdaggu, Earl of Bugs. He came out of the clusterfuck demise of the old department mysteriously connected to all the principals, and somehow parlayed his stonewall insistence that he doesn't know anything into a highly-placed new job. Somebody, the prevailing watercooler theory goes, is terrified of what he does know; and so he struts in every day in his terrible new ill-fitting suits like a gangster-flick mobster, sits in his new office playing with executive desk toys all day, and doesn't interfere with their jobs at all.
Which makes him the best boss Lust has had in centuries.
His secretary Mawgull, Talons of Pain — replacing Kozzala, Screaming Executrix (flung into the Furnace) — is a new hire. She's politely evasive about what she did before; opinion is split between New Ideas (jumping ship into a shaken-up department as a personal power grab) and Long-Term Service-User Case Management (desperate to be anywhere else).
A growing gaggle of succubi lurk at the coffee machine on the route to her desk every morning, milling and whispering and looking, either openly or shyly.
"Look at it," one murmurs, chewing her lip.
"Can you imagine," another one, leaning against her, sighs.
"I think it's thicker than my bicep," a third whispers loudly.
"...You've got noodle arms, Ruul."
"Yeah fine but maybe nearly as thick as my thigh."
There's a general critical ogling of Ruul's thighs.
"Can you imagine the power she has in that," somebody says, borderline whimpering.
"The fuck are you all giggling about," Xurbith says. Xurbith is squat and dense and scowly, an ancient transfer from Lakes of Fire Maintenance; she knits, and does a brisk workday of stepping on clients.
"Mawgull," one of the succubi sighs.
"Mawgull's tail," another adds wistfully.
Xurbith, tailless, looks across to where Mawgull is reaching her desk outside Jamdaggu's office. "Okay?" she says. "She's got one. You've got one. What about it?"
Ruul grabs the tip of her own tail and holds it out triumphantly. "Look!" she says. "Succubus tail! Thin and whippy and prehensile! Usually about ankle length!"
"Uh-huh." Xurbith pours herself coffee.
"Mawgull's is muscular." Ruul stares across, heart-eyed. "Like, you know, bad paleoart of a T-Rex beating something with its tail?"
"She can beat me with it," someone else says, not-very-sotto voce.
"And," Ruul says, slightly louder and ever-so-slightly annoyed, and gets interrupted by a breathy chorus.
"And it's...long."
"She's got a long one."
"It's so big!"
A beat of silence, and then, in a particularly filthy tone, "Hers is so long it drags on the floor."
Xurbith chugs her entire cup of coffee, and expressionlessly pours another one.
"Xurbith, isn't it?" Mawgull calls, in a clear, ringing voice. "You can be this morning's volunteer. I need my desk to work on, and it seems to be...cluttered...again."
Everyone looks at all the preemptively placed hot drinks, cupcakes, cards handmade with office stationery, sex toys, and underwear filling the surface of Mawgull's desk.
"Lucky," Ruul sighs. "If you're gonna throw all the panties away, can I have mine back? They're the comfy purple ones. Also, if you don't tell us what her perfume smells like today, someone might shank you."
